On Commutes
Yesterday at lunch, at one of my usual local midtown lunch spots—the ever-yummy Empanada Mama—my waitress asked me if I lived in Greenpoint, the Polish neighborhood where I do reside. Apparently, she saw me on the train to work last morning. She is one of my fellow commuters.
I mention this because I have been recently thinking about my morning commute. It is, in some ways, the highlight of my work day. For one, it is quite likely for me to see someone I know on the way there. To date, I have seen: Abby, J.R., Linsey, Cara, Matt, Kim, Sam and Sophie. Every morning there is a good chance that I'll have to put aside my paper and catch up with the latest with happenings.
And that is the people that is just the people I actually know. There are the others, the characters who commute with me, as we all wordlessly travel up to Queens and over to midtown. There is the girl who looks like Carin, who could quite possibly could be her. There is mustache dude with the impressive but unsightly handlebar number. The small-headed girl with the brown bob. The tall, somewhat annoying, over-talkative hipster guy. And so on...
I suppose I may be overstating this a little bit. Along with these familiar faces are hundreds of people who remain unnoticed, little more than obstacles on my path to work. It is with them I feel like part of the herd, all of us headed off to Manhattan for one more work day. To counter that, I have the comfort of having these people whom I recognize, the individuals in the faceless group, who remind me that I'm not the only one out there who does this commute thing. And I'm glad they ride with me.